My Dear Miss Hooper
by Dreamin
Summary: Sherlolly AU: Dancing Master Sherlock is hired to teach Miss Molly Hooper how to waltz. Regency Era.


A/N: Inspired by a prompt from the-consulting-strange-vidder: "teacher/student au."

* * *

"My dear," the esteemed Lady Hooper said, "this is Mr. Sherlock Holmes and his sister, Miss Eurus Holmes."

The young Miss Molly Hooper gave the dancing master and his accompanist a curtsey Sherlock thought was barely passable. He bowed and Eurus returned the curtsey. His sister's curtsey was a great deal more graceful and he noted the look of envy that flashed in Miss Hooper's eyes.

 _Interesting._ "It is an honor to meet you, Miss Hooper."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she said quietly, her eyes lowered demurely.

 _All right and proper,_ Sherlock thought dismissively, _but I hope she shows some spirit before long._

A quarter of an hour later, he was completely despairing of Miss Hooper being any sort of prize pupil. Besides her almost crippling shyness, she was awkward and ungainly. _She doesn't even know her left from her right._ Every step in the quadrille had her going the wrong way, stepping on his feet, or tripping over her own. Every so often, he heard a shaky note from Eurus' violin and he knew his sister's attempt at suppressing her giggles was the cause.

Sherlock dreaded teaching her the waltz but since it was all the rage, he knew Lady Hooper, who was watching them closely from the side of the room, would insist upon it. He nodded at Eurus, who started playing a waltz. Sherlock bowed at Miss Hooper, whose curtsey looked a little better.

When he placed one hand at her waist and took her outstretched hand with the other, he couldn't deny feeling … something. It was only when Miss Hooper looked up at him, finally meeting his eyes instead of, at best, his chin, that he felt something he could define – attraction.

Setting the feeling aside, Sherlock started to move with her, showing her the steps and how to let the man lead. Miss Hooper stumbled a few times but when it was over, she looked positively relieved when he told her she was better at the waltz than the quadrille.

When he suggested that they try the waltz again, she nodded eagerly. This time, when he took her in his arms, he felt the jolt again and allowed himself to revel in it. As they glided across the floor, Sherlock was amazed at how she seemed to fall in step with him perfectly. _It's as if we were made for each other._

When the dance was over, he could see her cheeks were flushed and he hoped the waltz itself wasn't the only cause. Her mother promptly declared their dancing to be beautiful. Miss Hooper, for her part, said that she enjoyed it immensely.

* * *

 _Then why,_ he thought three days later, _would her mother cancel our remaining lessons?_ He glanced at the cheque that had arrived with the letter. _At least she paid for them, as compensation. But what on Earth happened?_

It would be another three years before he received his answer.

* * *

Sherlock idly scanned the ballroom of his brother's London house, wondering if anyone alive was as bored as him. His family was celebrating Mycroft's engagement to Miss Anthea, the daughter of some worthy gentleman or other. Thus, the ballroom was full of people but empty of anything interesting. His best friend came up to him, smirking.

"Holmes, really, you should be out there," Dr. John Watson said, then sipped his champagne. "People expect London's premier dancing master to dance."

"I would, if there was anyone here worth dancing with." He scanned the room once more, then his jaw dropped when he saw a familiar face approach him.

Miss Hooper curtsied as soon as she was close enough, and Sherlock got over his surprise enough to notice her curtsy had greatly improved. "Mr. Holmes."

"Miss Hooper," he said, bowing. "I … er … was not expecting to see you tonight."

She grinned at him. "My parents and I were invited by your brother. My parents couldn't attend due to a prior engagement, but I was eager to come."

 _Is that so?_ Sherlock looked up to see his brother smirking at him from the refreshment table. Sherlock smirked back then turned back to the woman in front of him. A waltz started and he held out his hand. "My I have this dance, Miss Hooper?"

"Yes, you may, Mr. Holmes." Molly took his hand and he led her onto the dance floor.

Sherlock was delighted to feel the same jolt as he took her in his arms and she was still just as graceful as they danced. "You are quite grown up now, Miss Hooper," he murmured.

She smiled a bit. "I'm eighteen, nothing as old as your twenty-eight-year-old self, Mr. Holmes."

He chuckled. "I'm surprised you're still unmarried, I understand you have had three very promising Seasons."

"Yes, with plenty of suitors, but I've turned every one of them down."

Sherlock's heart, which had fallen at the mention of suitors, soared. "And why might that be?"

"Because I decided that the only suitor I could ever want was the man who taught me how to waltz." At his stunned face, she giggled then continued. "Yes, I mean you. After you left, I told my mother I wanted to marry you someday. She was nearly apoplectic at the idea of a baronet's daughter marrying the younger son of an untitled gentleman. She cancelled our lessons and said that I would soon forget about you, but I never did."

"I could never forget you either," he murmured. "Not entirely." He grinned. "Well, since we are in the same boat, I suggest we make the best of it. May I have your permission to court you, Miss Hooper?"

She grinned back. "Yes, Mr. Holmes. My dear Mr. Holmes."


End file.
